in mist she travels
her arms
extensions of the
gathering clouds
her robes
a tangible part
of the wind
the indifference of man
in her grows formidable
and fierce
an almost blithe reminder
is she
that
though life takes its
tip overs and spills
still its ever constant
a man's focused thoughts
are his faithful guides
while his intentions can
become the bricks that
build paths too often
to his own private and
public hell
replacement markers
are not an easy source to
acquire
there are valleys of lull
between even the finest hills
mountains to conquer near
streams we could easily lose
footing in and drown
the path itself anymore
grows smarter
and we the puny traveler
must steer ourselves safely
between the dips and pitfalls
false turns and one way streets
put before us
man in his own foolish arrogance
tends to bring on his own
most bitter change
a form if you will
of soul slave labor......
(Jan 4,2001 1125am)